


Dreams

by Lefaym



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monica is living her dream -- so why do these nightmares keep haunting her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isabelquinn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=isabelquinn).



> Many thanks to [Lionessvalenti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti) for the beta!

_Monica didn’t know how long she’d been running; everything seemed to be melting around her, nothing was was real anymore, nothing but the girl chasing her, her long bushy hair streaming behind her. While everything seemed to dissolve, her face grew sharper. While everything else seemed to fall away, the girl only came nearer and nearer, and Monica could never run fast enough._

 _“Please,” Monica sobbed. “Please.”_

* * *

“Monica, please.” Wendel’s voice pulled her back. “Monica, please wake up.”

She opened her eyes, blinking away tears. She could see Wendel’s silhouette beside her; he was sitting up in bed, while she lay back, sweaty sheets twisted around her legs. Her entire body shook, and even the presence of Wendel’s warm hand on her shoulder wasn’t enough to calm her.

“Another dream?” Wendel asked, although there was little need for the question. The dreams came all too frequently now; this was the third time this week. He was always so patient; he never complained that she woke him, that his rest was disturbed.

“She almost had me,” Monica whispered. “She’s getting closer.”

“Shhh,” said Wendel, slipping down beside her and pulling her into his arms. “She won’t take you. She can’t hurt you.”

Monica leaned into him, glad of his warmth. The nights were colder now that it was almost June, and Australians knew nothing about proper insulation. Wendel stroked her hair, softly, patiently, until she stopped shivering, and before long his breathing slowed as he slipped back into sleep. Eventually, he moved away from her, and Monica lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

There would be no more rest for her tonight.

* * *

“Now, Monica, I want you to close your eyes. I want you to think of a place that makes you feel calm. A place where you feel warm and happy.”

Monica closed her eyes, and thought back. She remembered how she’d felt when they’d landed in Sydney, knowing that they didn’t have to leave -- knowing that their dream was a reality now. It had seemed a miracle that their visas had been approved, that their applications for permanent residency had been passed, that after years of wishes and hopes, they’d actually done it. It didn’t matter how tired they were, how cramped after twenty-four hours in a tiny seat; they were _here_.

“Hold onto that place, Monica. Draw it around you.”

She remembered going through customs, nervously declaring the chocolates they’d brought with them, and the relief they’d both felt when the grim customs officer waved them through. She remembered going through the final doorway, and looking over her shoulder, thinking that she’d glimpsed, just out the corner of her eye...

* * *

 _Out of the corner of her eye she saw a mess of curly brown hair, and she knew that she needed to get away._

 _“Wendel!” she screamed, but as he turned to look at her, he melted away and she was alone. She ran through the doorway, and the corridor seemed to go on forever. She had to go forward, she couldn’t go back, there was no way out._

 _She could hear the girl’s footsteps behind her, growing closer, closer, with every second._

 _Monica turned around, and--_

* * *

“Turn it around, Monica! _You_ are in control here!”

Monica tried to focus on the face in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried -- I tried -- ”

“Tell me about it.”

“We were in the airport, we’d just arrived in Sydney...” Monica spoke quietly as she related the entire -- what had it been? A dream? A vision?

“This girl -- she sounds a lot like you. She has your hair.”

Monica shuddered.

“Perhaps she represents some part of yourself.”

“What part would that be?” Monica twisted her hands in her lap.

“A dream you abandoned, perhaps? Something that weighs heavily on your mind.”

“There’s nothing -- I can’t think -- ”

“Perhaps something from when you were very young.”

Monica tried to think back, to her childhood, her adolescence, before she’d known Wendel. She tried to remember the early part of their relationship. “White noise,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I try to remember, and all I get is white noise.”

* * *

“How did it go?” Wendel asked when he got home.

Monica allowed him to fold her into a hug, so that she could avoid answering. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d walked away from that comfortable little office feeling worse than she had when she’d stepped in. She didn’t want him to know that one of the dreams had taken her there, when she hadn’t even been asleep.

“It went well,” she said at last, because she knew how badly that he wanted this to work. “I think I’ll sleep better tonight.” In her purse, she had a small box of valium; she’d been to see her doctor -- her proper, medical doctor -- this afternoon, after the disaster.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

 _She couldn’t move, she couldn’t run. The girl looked at Monica, and Monica saw tears in her eyes, but those tears didn’t make Monica any less afraid. The girl raised a stick a stick above her head, and--_

* * *

Monica raised her hands above her head, and then bent down to touch her toes.

“Just relax into it, and let those muscles stretch. Bend down, as far as you can go.” The perky instructor at the front of the room did it easily; Monica hoped that, at the back of the room, no one would notice that she had to bend her legs to reach her toes.

She stifled a yawn; the drugs had helped her sleep through the night, but they hadn’t stopped the dreams. Paralysed, unable to run, she’d stood there as the girl tore her to pieces, dismantling every part of her.

“Okay, everyone,” came the instructor’s voice, “it’s time for jogging on the spot!”

Running and not going anywhere. Monica tried to smile as she felt the bile rising in her throat.

* * *

“She’s going to be here soon,” said Monica. “I can feel it.”

“Sshhh,” said Wendel. “You should see the counsellor again. You said it helped, last time.”

Monica nodded. He still didn’t know that she had no intention of going back there. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This was supposed to be our dream.”

Wendel took her hand. “It still is.”

* * *

 _Still running, still running. So, so tired of running._

 _Her legs ached, and her breath caught, and Monica realised that she couldn’t do it anymore. There was no point in trying to escape._

 _She turned, and faced the girl._

 _“Do it,” said Monica. “Just do it.”_

 _The girl raised her stick, and Monica knew that she was about to die._

* * *

She would dye her hair, Monica decided. That would make her feel better. Not that she ever had dyed her hair before, but perhaps it would help if her hair wasn’t as fuzzy and grey as her mind felt these days. Monica found a hairdresser in the Yellow Pages, and tapped her foot nervously as she dialled the number.

“You’ll feel like a new person!” the hairdresser promised over the phone.

Monica shuddered and dropped the receiver.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. At first, the sound didn’t really register, but when the second knock came, she turned her head. Jehovah’s Witnesses? A delivery?

As she pulled the door open, a tall red-headed boy came into view. Boy? Young man? He was at that stage where it was difficult to tell. He wore a baggy shirt and a pair of jeans torn in one knee. Definitely not a JW then. And not a delivery boy either.

“Um, hi,” he said.

“Can I help you?” Monica asked. He was English, she realised, and she felt a sudden surge of affection for him.

“My girlfriend and I, we -- we were after some directions.”

“On holiday are you?”

The boy -- the man -- nodded. “Well, sort of.”

“And where are you trying to get yourselves?”

“Um, well, it’s actually my girlfriend driving. She was too shy to come in though.”

Monica smiled. “Well, you tell her that there’s nothing to worry about. Go get her, and I’ll make some tea. Just let yourselves in when you’re back.”

Perhaps it was silly of her to invite them in -- but he seemed like such a _nice_ boy. Such a nice man.

Monica hummed to herself as she put the kettle on, and took some milk arrowroot biscuits from the pantry.

When the door opened, she looked up and saw the red-headed boy, with a figure behind him. The figure stepped to the side, and--

“ _Muta memoria reverso_!”

The girl’s stick swished through the air, and Monica’s world dissolved into bright, white light.


End file.
